Hawk Eyes
by the sHINjo
Summary: Based mainly upon Tristan, the lone wolf, and his side of this epic tale of war. Wisdom and truth two virtues given to this lone scout, how will he act when he is put to lead the Knights? IN PROGRESS


Author's Note: More of me taking the plotline of the movie, and rewriting it. Basically avoiding a lot of the deaths…main stuff like that, taking battles to an upper level… And this is also my tribute to the lone wolf, the watcher of the hawk, Tristan.

---

Stroking the feathers of his great hawk, Tristan reached for the reins of his horse as he watched the snow fall from the stark sky. It had been three days of trekking, and still little progress had been made. Arthur had made the decision that they help the family despite the weather, and oncoming Saxons, and none of the Knights of the Roundtable had the heart to argue against his will.

"See to how far the Saxons are…" He whispered the words to his hawk, thrusting his arm upwards and allowing it to fly off with a shriek.

Tristan watched the great bird fly off, knowing fully well that this would be their last adventure together. Kicking the sides of his horse, he held taught on the reins and rode back at a gallop to return to his group.

With the rise and fall of his horses' run, a smile curled across Tristan's lips as he thought of their predicament. Bishop Germenius had jeopardized them all, Arthur, Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, Bors, and Dagonet as they stood before him free of their services of Knighthood.

But Tristan knew that relishing in the day of their freedom would only have brought then to another line of duty. And yet he let the others believe that they would indeed be free from these lands.

After all, from his lips spilled the words of spited hate, "We knights are blessed in that we do not run from it. We seek it, grasp it by the throat and demand honor in our passing."

Sighing lowly, as the small forms of their party came into view and he held a hand to his eyes to shield them from the snow. Tristan watched Arthur as he led his horse beside the carriage, within the mysterious Woad woman remained, unbeknownst of her standings in this war.

His horse ran to meet the others, however, when it would have been any other of the knights, Tristan returned to no greeting. But he liked it like that, for he was a lone wolf, and he knew that he was not within such close bonds as the other knights.

Though, he sifted himself in to join a conversation held between Galahad and Gawain.

"Too much time has gone without any sight or sound of the Saxons _or_ Woads…something is wrong."

"Perhaps, but Arthur would not lead us into certain danger…" Galahad continued to voice his loyalty to the man who had led them through these long years.

Gawain lifted his lowered head to look at Galahad, acknowledging Tristan with a small nod. "Though I thoroughly believe in Arthur's instincts, this time there is something that he is refusing to notice."

Following Gawain, Galahad also nodded to Tristan, and decided to use the man's entrance as a means of changing the subject. "Ah, Tristan, did you send your hawk out?"

"I did."

"To look for the Saxons?"

Galahad visibly winced at his friend's question, as he had wanted to avoid the subject at all costs, but could see no way out of it.

"Yes." Tristan looked to the gray sky, as if in search for the hawk. "For I had similar thoughts to yours, about the sudden calm of the storm…"

There was a slight tone of anxiety in the other's voice, which did little to comfort the two.

However, the three were caused to return to their separate posts, as Arthur rode up and past them, seemingly in a bad mood.

"Got a fiery spirit, even in this weather, huh?"

"Lancelot, I'm not in the mood…" Arthur ran a hand over his forehead, as he joined the other at the front of the slow-moving party.

Although, to Arthur's disdain, Lancelot _was_ in the mood.

"She's very strange, isn't she?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Surely you must, Arthur. I mean, you've spent all your time with her ever since we picked her up." Lancelot watched Arthur carefully, a pain expression crossing his face. "If I had spent that much time with her, I would know anything and everything there would be to know."

"And that, Lancelot, is how we differ." Arthur peered at the sky as a low shriek was let, and spotted Tristan's hawk. He pressed his lips together, and finally came to recognize the eerie silence. Looking to Lancelot, he gave the other a thin frown.

"I believe…we have some unwanted visitors…"

---

Allowing the hawk to rest a moment on his extended arm, Tristan watched the bird slowly, and nodded his head dropping his arm causing the hawk to relocate on his shoulder. Kicking into the sides of his horse, he rode past Bors who fixed him with a very confused stare.

"Arthur!" He finally called, when he was within ear shot of the man. "I'm afraid we have little time… The Saxons are closer than I thought, and we must go now…"

Arthur nodded his head and was about to alert the party that they should keep moving, when an arrow flew through the air, and slammed itself deep into his shoulder. With an agonized cry, Arthur fell from his horse, which galloped away, startled.

Before the Saxon could load another arrow to his bow, Tristan had let one of his own fly, and it flew true straight into the man's throat.

Lancelot had slid off his horse and sat Arthur up, looking at the arrow shaft that was perhaps halfway buried. "Dammit…" He muttered as he looked to Tristan.

"Take the rest of the party, and go! I'll take care of Arthur." Lancelot decided that keeping the arrow in, for now would be the best thing as he had little to stop blood loss. "Go now!"

Watching him for a long moment, Tristan nodded his head rounding his horse back to the carriages. "All in the carriages get out and run alongside. There is little time and great patches of ice ahead. You must take heed of the ice, but also make haste. Knights, you will remain here and we will fight off the Saxons as long as we can."

Though the knights were surprised by the leader-like actions taken by their usually quite comrade, there was little to keep them from following his instructions. However, Guinevere stepped from her carriage and walked to where Tristan was.

"You will allow me to stay and fight?"

Tristan looked to her as if he were about to say 'no' but he busied himself with collecting quivers full of arrows, and enough bows for the knights. "Do as you wish."

The knights left their horses with the group which traveled to safer grounds, careful of the ice, and they watched Lancelot support the wounded Arthur. Unfortunately, they were not given much time to watch as the pounding of footsteps could soon be heard.

Almost simultaneously, the knights and Guinevere retrieved their arrows from the ice, taking several feet back in retreat as they positioned themselves on the midsection of the ice. This would be proven as useful in this act of strategy.

As the Saxons stopped, Cynric clearly standing in the front, they remained oblivious to the ice they stood upon.

"Wait for my signal, and then fire at will." Tristan whispered to the line of archers, though it seemed that the two parties were very out of range.

Cynric motioned to one of his archers, who latched an arrow to his bow and shot. It fell short by quite some feet.

Though, as Guinevere watched this she smiled thinly as she pulled back on her bowstring, and let her arrow fly. It hit one of the Saxons in the chest, killing him on impact.

Tristan glared at Guinevere for a short second before shooting his own arrow; the signal. Each of the knights let their own arrows fly, killing at least one of their targets.

As the rain of arrows continued, several Saxons ran forward with their shields and protected Cynric. He had been quite surprised by the ability of the knights' aim and ability, but he should not have underestimated his enemies. Thrusting his arm forward, he sent his men into a forward march.

Wanting to end this now and here, Tristan looked to Dagonet. The man nodded and ran forward holding his ax over his head. The knights and Guinevere followed, taking their places around the man as he began to hack away at the ice.

This caused the blood to run cold in Cynric's veins and he yelled in the fear of the situation, "Shoot them down, now!"

Unfortunately for the Saxons, Dagonet had already sealed their fate with a final downward thrust of his ax upon the ice. It cracked, sending the tumultuous water through the two ice pieces, causing the rest to split of its own accord. Retreating back to the safer side of the ice, the knights and Guinevere ran to return to their group.

With little time to react, the Saxons watched the ice break beneath their feet. Several disappeared beneath the shifting ice, and Cynric retreated quickly watching the better half of his men drown in the freezing cold water. There was no hope for them, so there was no use in saving them.

Cynric watched the Knights disappear behind the small snow covered hills cursing loudly. "You will see your day, knights!"

---

"How is he?"

"Fine. Fine. He was lucky…had the arrow been moved just the slightest to the left…" Lancelot shook his head, not wanting to even think of the idea.

Sighing, somewhat relieved, Bors walked back slowly, returning to the fire where two of his fellow knights were.

"What's the news, Bors?" Galahad lifted his head at the other's arrival.

Fixing the two with his stare, the great man sat down on the make-shift stump of a seat and grunted slightly. "Lancelot says he'll be alright. Only hit his shoulder."

"Well that's a relief…and what of Dagonet?"

The three of them tilted their heads to the gleeful laugh of a young boy. They watched as Dagonet played his knighthood lightly with the boy, as he pretended to battle the imaginary sword and fell under the boy's limited skills. It was hard to believe that the man had received an arrow to the arm in his forward sprint.

A smile crossed Gawain's lips as watched them. "He seems fine enough to me."

"Aye, but most things seem 'fine to you', Gawain." Bors mumbled. "Bet if some guy asked if he could take a piss on your damn boots you'd say that same old 'sounds fine with me' shit."

Arching a brow, Gawain folded his arms across his chest. "Oh, so you'd ask next time, Bors?"

Galahad could barely control the laughter that exploded inside of him. Bors wore the expression of utmost embarrassment, much different from when he had proudly stated that he could barely piss straight if he wanted to; and never had been able to. Said he was 'too much to handle' even for himself.

It had been a small victory, a very small victory, and yet the camp seemed to be alive with the joyful thoughts of success. Tristan let his hawk fly again, to allow it the night to hunt its dinner as he stood alone in his own section of the widespread campus.

Arthur's survival had been confirmed, and he had taken his moment in the spotlight of leadership. Though, he knew fully well that it was not a position he would want to hold for much longer.

"This little trip has turned out to be much more complicated that Arthur led us to believe…" He sighed, his breath escaping his lips in a small puff of vapor as it trailed through the winter atmosphere. "I fear that our deeds…are meaningless this last time. There is nothing that will prevent us from coming from this battle in pieces."

Lifting his eyes to the sky, Tristan suddenly seemed old, as if the years of knighthood had taken a too much out of him to continue with this dreaded life. This life of killing, one that he had learned to love.

"You cannot truly return to the peaceful life after living through this hell in a basket." Somewhat of a smirk crossed the man's face as his bangs fell about his brow, "After your hands have been stained with the blood of another human....there's not returning to that life of innocence and naivety. Arthur….we're trapped, and no matter how much you want our freedom to be granted, there's only one way to forever be free of our bonds of knighthood…"

The hoot of an owl gave way, as a strong breeze blew the clumps of snow off the great pine trees causing it to fall to the snow covered ground below. There was an eerie silence that seemed to follow, almost as if Tristan were waiting for something before finishing his thought. He closed his eyes gently, folding his arms and tucking his hands away in his sleeves.

"There is only _one _way Arthur…and that is….death."

Ending Note: Alright now. Tell me if you liked that, and if the majority of you say 'yes' then I'll continue. J I've missed writing fanfiction….and I'm glad I started to write again.


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